A Fortress of Books
by DanniV
Summary: When John Winchester was on a hunt, there were only three approved reasons the brothers could leave the motel room: 1) it was on fire, 2) Dad was at the door, or 3) Uncle Bobby was at the door. Going to the library to get Sammy more books most definitely was not on that list.


**A Fortress of Books**

Dad had said the hunt would take four days… a week tops. That's how long the motel room he had stashed Dean and Sam in was paid for. But he had given Dean money for an additional week… just in case. Where are you, Dad? Dean thought as he looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Dean hadn't heard from his father since he had locked the motel door behind him 10 days ago.

Part of Dean was worried; but most of him was simply stir crazy. Dean had been stuck in this room with his little brother for 10 days and they were both going crazy, not that you could tell by looking at them. Dean lay motionless on his bed, staring at the ceiling fan, walkman in hand listening to a Led Zeppelin cassette. Sammy sat cross legged on his bed surrounded by a fortress of books of varying sizes and topics. As Dean glanced over at Sammy he saw that he was re-reading some textbook on ancient civilizations. Yes, he was re-reading it… that is how long they had been in this God forsaken room.

As 7 year olds go, Sammy was a good one, Dean thought. He was used to these long bouts of confinement. He knew the routine. They had known how to repress their natural childish impulse to bounce off the walls from a very early age. They had learned to entertain themselves. Sammy may not get to go to school regularly, but he was ravenous for knowledge. He had very little interest in the motel's crappy TV, which was good because there wasn't much on. All he wanted to do was read his stack of books. Dean was content as along as his walkman had batteries.

As a hunter with two young boys in tow, John Winchester had quickly learned the most important forged document to make before any hunt was a library card. Before he would go, he would take them to the library of whatever town they were in and allow Sammy to pick out as many books as he could carry back to the motel. Dean would grab some comic books and, if the town's music collection was any good, a few cassettes to listen to.

But John had told them a week. They had gotten enough entertainment for a week. That had been 3 agonizingly boring days ago. Dean could tell Sammy was trying his best, but having lived most of their lives in these small motel rooms Dean knew the signs of Sammy's boredom. Sammy's outwardly calm appearance screamed discontent – the twitch of his left hand, his eyes flitting around the room between pages. Dean pretended to not notice, but he saw everything. Sammy had always been, and would always be his responsibility. His wellbeing was all that would ever matter to Dean. So, looking at the alarm clock again, Dean placed his walkman down on the bed and got up. He walked to the motel room's table and wrote a note:

_Dad, took Sammy to the library. Be back soon. – Dean_

Man did Dean hope his dad wouldn't see that note. He would get a whooping. But it wasn't fair to Sammy to make him sit here with no entertainment. Dean would take the beating if he had to, it would be worth it.

"Sammy, pack up your books, we are going to the library," Dean said as he shrugged on his jacket.

Sam looked up in surprise from where he sat. He eyes shot questioningly from Dean's face to the door, then back again. He didn't move. He knew this was against the rules, Dad's most important rule of hunting: Do not leave the motel room. There were only three approved reasons to leave a motel room: 1) it was on fire, 2) Dad was at the door, or 3) Uncle Bobby was at the door. That was it.

Sam didn't want to get in trouble, but the idea of new books lit up his face. He didn't want Dean to get in trouble, but he wanted the sequel to one of his books. What if Dad came back while they were gone? Dean would get the beating of his life.

Dean watched this internal battle flash across Sam's young face. Yes, Sam was the son of a hunter, scrolling through all the information before making a decision. Dean was proud, in a sad sort of way. But the painful hope in Sammy's eyes solidified Dean's resolution. They were going to the library – NOW.

"I left Dad a note. Hurry before I change my mind," Dean grumbled with all the authority an 11, almost 12, year old boy left in charge of his little brother, could muster.

Sam doesn't need to be told a third time. He scrambles off the bed, shoving his fortress of books back into his backpack, all but tripping over himself to get into his tennis shoes and jacket. Thirty seconds later, Dean was out the door, his little brother, practically skipping with excitement, in tow.

Sam's bulging backpack was as big as him as they walked down the 2 miles, of what passed for a highway in this town, to the library. Dean thought about offering to carry the bag, because it looked like one strong gust of wind would be enough to tip Sammy onto his back like a helpless turtle. But he knew Sammy liked to be strong – like his dad – like his older brother, so Dean stayed silent. Besides, Dean thought glancing around them like a secret service agent walking the president through a crowd; he needed to be able to move quickly to fight if anything attacked them. Dean couldn't protect Sammy if he was encumbered by a backpack.

Twenty minutes into their journey they arrived at the town library unchallenged by ghost, demon, or human. Allowing Sammy to run ahead toward the door, Dean couldn't help but smile. Giving Sammy this, this was worth any beating. But his face fell as Sam pushed on the door and it didn't move. It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon… why wasn't the library open? Then Dean saw the sign:

_Sundays: Closed._

How could he have not remembered what day it was? Dean cursed. These stupid little towns were never open on Sundays. He could tell Sam was valiantly fighting off tears as he stood bent half over with his bag of books. This would not stand, Dean thought. "Sammy," Dean said with a kind smile, "today I'm going to teach you how to pick a lock."

It took Sam a moment to process this sentence through the fog of disappointment currently surrounding him. Then Sam smiled, almost shyly up at his brother, "Okay, Dean." Gently, reverently placing his bag of books down on the concrete steps, Sammy stood at attention, waiting quietly for instructions.

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his lock pick kit and handed it to his little brother to hold. Picking up the picks he wanted, he narrated what he was doing for Sammy, as his little brother watched with unwavering attention. The lock clicked within thirty seconds and the door in front of them popped open. Sam moved to pick up his bag and go inside, but as he turned around Dean snapped "what do you think you are doing?"

Sammy froze, confused, looking up at his brother. Dean may have snapped, but he was smiling devilishly as, without breaking eye contact with his brother he reached around the door he had just opened, relocked it, and pulled it closed. "I said I was going to teach you how to pick a lock… not pick it for you." Dean took the kit from Sammy and knelt down next to his brother, "your turn."

This was almost better than the library; Sam thought as he took the pick Dean had used moments earlier. Eyeing the lock like a puzzle to be defeated, Sammy set to work, narrated by the kind reassuring directions of his brother over his shoulder. Dean fist pumped the air three minutes later as he heard the lock click and watched the door pop open again. He clapped his hand against his little brothers shoulder in approval before grabbing Sam's backpack and pushing the door open so his brother could go running through.

As Sam ran to the stacks, Dean took one sweeping look behind them at the parking lot. No enemies in sight. He closed and locked the door, laying a line of salt across the doorway behind him. Halfway across the library, Sam stopped and ran back to his brother to grab his backpack. Ever the choir boy, before Sam could even think about grabbing a book, even in a closed library, he had to return the books he had borrowed the week previous.

The books landing in the empty return bin echoed through the small library as Dean patrolled the perimeter laying down salt lines methodically across each window and door he came too. Books returned, Dean watched Sammy disappear back into the stacks. He sniffed the air, no sulfur. Dean didn't bother to check for cursed objects, Dad had already vetted this building when he had been there. Precautions taken, Dean wandered over to the magazine racks on the far wall and grabbed a muscle car magazine. He smiled, it was a new addition. The magazine was 4 months old, but it was new to Dean.

Magazine in hand, Dean went to find Sammy. Sam was found with a pile of books already forming on the ground beside him as he scanned the titles on the shelf. Dad was often impatient when it came to library visits. It was the last step before a hunt, and he was always itching to get going by that point. So Sam had learned to make quick decisions about books and knew how to find exactly what he wanted without much effort. He looked up at Dean as he approached, "almost done, Dean" Sam said hurriedly.

"Take your time, kiddo," Dean said with a smile taking a seat in a chair that was way too small for him. Flipping open his magazine Dean relaxed as Sammy scanned the shelves for another ten minutes. Lost in a particularly interesting article about rebuilding engines, Dean just barely prevented himself from jumping when Sam came into view over the magazine page, a stack of four carefully chosen books in his arms. "Ready," Sam said beaming.

Ruffling Sammy's hair as Dean got up, Dean gave the library one final glance before turning and heading for the exit. The boys practically ran the whole two miles back to the motel with their loot in hand. Dean sighed with relief that the impala was no where in sight as they reached the motel's empty parking lot. The boys took the steps two at a time, Dean because he was in a hurry, Sam because Dean was doing it. Safely across the threshold, Dean checked the salt lines, the closet, the bathroom and under the beds before stalking over to the table where his note lay unread.

Tearing it off the notepad along with the next two sheets that showed the message indented into them, Dean grabbed his father's lighter off the table and crossed the room to the bathroom. At the sink Dean lit the evidence of their excursion aflame and watched it crumple into ash in the bowl of the sink. Rinsing the remains down the drain, Dean returned the lighter to its original resting place and flopped onto his bed. Glancing across the room, Sam was already lost in his new book, all signs of boredom gone from his face and body as his legs swung absentmindedly behind him. Yes, the library trip had been just what the doctor ordered, thought Dean laying his head back against his pillow.

And that is where John Winchester found his boys 5 hours later. Dean reclining peacefully reading a car magazine with his headphones on and Sammy sprawled on the floor nose buried in a book. Both unharmed children, smiled up at their father as he stepped over the salt line and through the door. John sighed with relief. Sammy screamed, "Dad!" with glee and flung himself across the room to hug his father. Dean, too old for signs of affection such as this, still sat up and pulled his head phones off his ears with a "Hey, Dad."

Placing his hunting bag down on the motel chair, John asked his eldest son, "Any trouble while I was gone?"

"Nope, nothing out of the ordinary," Dean said with his best poker face, though he was already mentally preparing himself for the beating that was to come if John Winchester noticed the books they were holding were different than the ones he had supervised them checkout.

But whatever had made this job last 4 days longer than his father had intended had clearly taken a toll on him, because John simply nodded his head in acceptance and walked to the fridge to get a beer. Sitting down at the table he took a long swig. "I've got to shower. But then, what do you boys say about some dinner? We can hit that IHOP we saw on the way into town?"

This sounded perfect to the two boys who had been living on microwave burritos and canned soup for the passed 10 days. They nodded excitedly, and John smiled tiredly at them as a he headed for the bathroom. As the door closed behind him, Dean and Sam shared a glance across the room, with a quiet smile between them. They didn't even dare breathe a sigh of relief for fear of their father's sharpened hunter senses. So they simply nodded their heads and went back to their reading.

Their lives were far from perfect. John Winchester was far from the perfect father. But as the three Winchester men settled in for the night, bellies full of pancakes and bacon, a peace fell over the room. This was the life they had, these were the cards they had been dealt as a family. John sat at the table with his hunting journal in front of him, writing up his latest knowledge. Sammy was on the floor between the TV and the bed with his chapter book. Dean was perched on his bed with his magazine resting against his bent legs. This was as close to perfect as the Winchesters got.

Pretending this peace could last forever, safe and warm in their little motel room, the Winchester men held their books. For amongst their books they felt safe. They may not know it, but they were Men of Letters, their books – a fortress shielding them against the world.


End file.
